


Turned Around

by JennyGreenteeth



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comfort, Fluff, Ghosts, M/M, Nothing very racy I'm afraid, Really plenty of fluff, Romance, lost dwarves, mega fluff, spooky stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-28 22:06:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennyGreenteeth/pseuds/JennyGreenteeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Company get (supernaturally) lost and two of their number find each other. </p><p>Also, there's a ghostie - like, oh no, Scoob!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The grumbling was as constant as the rain, and the rain had been going three days without let up. There was grousing from Dori, lamenting from the hobbit, cursing from Gloin, all joined by the others to greater or lesser degrees. Gandalf had left them some days earlier on business of his own which they could not get from him, promising to meet up with them again further along the road at a village of men, and he was roundly cursed in his absence.

Young Ori determinedly held his tongue because he knew he had things to prove, but he was suffering; he had unpacked one of his notebooks the night before and found the water had got in all down one side, turning the edges of the pages wavy. Ori now wore his books inside his coat, giving his belly bizarre angles. 

Another person not inclined to complain was Bifur. He walked ahead of Ori a little way and seemed not to notice the rain. In fact, he seemed to have switched off entirely. His feet trod with dogged surety but with no apparent prompting from his brain, and if the company turned a corner or had to go around an obstacle, one of his cousins had to intervene and manually turn him. This dismayed Ori, who found himself turning more and more to the solace of Bifur’s company the more they travelled together. He liked to talk with him, and he liked to be quiet with him, it didn’t seem to matter; since they had been thrown together the two of them had discovered their own quiet communication, quite inaccessible by the others. On an impulse, Ori trotted ahead to catch up with the oblivious dwarf and fell into step beside him. He smiled hopefully, just in case Bifur was aware of him.

So intent was Ori on trying to watch Bifur out of the corner of his eye that he stumbled when he went to pull one squelching boot out of the mud. Without looking Bifur shot out an arm and caught Ori round the waist, steadying him before he fell. This was just one of a number of occasions on which Ori had observed that part of Bifur remained as sharp as his boar spear. They stood for a moment, and Bifur’s eyes slowly refocused on the present as he felt something not quite right with the body beside him. He turned to Ori, brows furrowed, releasing him slowly and prodding quizzically at one of the protruding corners under Ori’s coat. Ori laughed sheepishly.

“It’s books!” he explained, pulling his coat out at the collar so Bifur could peer down. Bifur raised his chin in a way which perfectly communicated ‘Aha, I see.’ and Ori laughed again, pleased to get a smile in return from Bifur. Ori was also flatted to see that Bifur remained on the same plane as the rest of them for the remainder of the day, listening when Ori wanted to talk and walking in companionable, attentive silence when he did not.

Behind them, Bofur nudged Bombur in what could loosely be termed his ribs, and nodded in Bifur and Ori’s direction. Bombur followed his brother’s gaze and his cheeks filled out with a smile as he gave Bofur a covert sign of approval. Both had been eagerly observing Ori’s bashful overtures and the careful affection Bifur showed him in return almost since the quest began.

“Did you see them earlier? I’ve never seen anyone able to just bring him round like that.” Bofur whispered.

“I know, bless him! And Bifur so easy with him too. I’d never have looked for it.”

“You’re right there, brother, and I don’t think it’s too bold to say they make a very fine couple.”

Bombur was satisfied with this, and said so. “If we get nothing more from this quest than burned beards, at least there’s this.” He smiled, and Bofur wrinkled his nose happily in agreement.

 

As if to celebrate the brothers’ good humour, the rain mercifully gave over, though the ground was still boggy and a chilly wind had got up to chase the clouds. Late in the afternoon they covered an open patch of moor and came into the shelter of thickly wooded hills, climbing steadily and getting warm with the effort. The path was decent enough but dusk gathered quickly under the trees and Thorin let them cast about for a place to stop for the night. 

High in the woods they came upon the ruins of an old round hut, of the kind humans had made in bygone days and which were still standard accommodation in some bleaker places. It had been ruined a long time - most of the motarless stones were covered in springy moss and parts of the collapsed wall had rolled a good way down the hill where tree roots had grown over them. Nothing remained of the roof and shoots were growing through the rubble in places. Nevertheless, a good three quarters of the wall still stood in a low crescent and formed a shelter against the wind blowing from the east, and it was but the work of a moment to clear the worst of the tumbled stones from inside and set up a fire circle. This serendipity put the Company in a fine mood, and once their clothes were spread out to dry and Bombur had set a pot bubbling over the flames, the dwarves were soon engaged a healthy amount of horseplay. 

Bilbo Baggins, looking on, privately hoped for stories and songs later, but for now and until they were outside a hot supper, the dwarves seemed intent on more boisterous pastimes. Fili and Nori competed at knife-throwing with the obliging assistance of a sapling that had struggled through the rubble of the wall and must now have been regretting it. Then Kili showed off his trick-shooting by ricocheting his arrow off the iron cooking pot. He overshot his mark by a mile and the beginning of a good-natured jeer had gone up when it was cut short by a sound of avian dismay and a soft thump. Kili trotted off a little way, returning with a fat woodpigeon. This earned him a cheer all round, and even his uncle was moved to a nod. 

Next, Bombur stepped up, egged on by his brother. Bilbo was relieved when it became clear they were not going to be treated to another burping rendition of _‘The Slopes of Ered Luin_ ’, though that did seem to be almost universally popular with the others. Instead, Bofur hauled Ori up and murmured something in a low voice to him. Ori looked uncertain for a moment but Bofur patted him on the shoulder kindly.

“Honestly, you can’t hurt him, I promise.” 

Thrilled to be included and knowing this would stand him in good stead with his brother, Ori geared himself up and took a good run at Bombur. Just as the smaller dwarf reached him, Bombur shifted his weight forward, meeting Ori with his belly and bouncing him a good four feet through the air. Bifur tried to field him but the momentum knocked them both onto their backs. Everyone cheered as Ori pulled himself up, grinning with self-satisfaction.  
On the second run-up and with both dwarves feeling more confident, Ori was knocked off trajectory, shot past Bifur, and took a bit more of the ruined wall out with him. 

“Every ounce a bounce.” He beamed (quoting his eldest brother) as concerned faces gathered round him. The little dwarf looked so proud that Dori hadn’t the heart to chide him. 

“Aye, very nice,” Dwalin clapped Ori on the shoulder, but he was addressing Bombur, “but can you do that to someone with a bit more meat on them?”

Bombur would just about have had time to get out of the way, but he gallantly stood his ground and braced himself when Dwalin ran at him. This took Dwalin so much by surprise that, while he would normally have flattened poor Bombur and so was preparing to go easy on him, the two met with almost equal force. Bombur sprawled on his back and skidded a few feet while Dwalin spectacularly lost his footing and his dignity in the opposite direction. This was apparently the funniest thing Nori had ever witnessed and he folded to the ground in gales of laughter. 

The fallout from this was several rounds of various dwarves running at each other. As keen a spectator as Ori was, something caught his eye in the pile of stones he had disturbed. He pulled on Bifur’s arm and tugged him over to look at it too. 

Behind them, Bofur nearly stumbled into the fire until he was caught and shooed away by Balin.

“It’s all fun and games until someone upsets the dinner.” He observed. 

While this went on, Ori and Bifur crouched unheeded over the section of wall Ori had demolished. 

“Look at this,” the young scribe pointed excitedly to where a larger stone in the rubble that filled the wall had been exposed, “these marks couldn’t have been made by a pick, they’re too deliberate. I think it’s writing!”

 **What does it say?** Bifur rumbled in Khuzdul.

“I don’t know, the runes are sort of different to ours. I bet I could figure it out if I had time.” Ori brightened, “Just hang on here a minute!” And he scuttled off to his bags, returning a moment later with a sheet of paper and a stick of charcoal.  
“Please could you just hold this on here? Thank you.” Ori positioned Bifur’s hands holding the paper while he used the side of the charcoal to take a rubbing of the inscription. They had to get very close to each other to do this, and smiled shyly when their noses bumped. The transfer came up nice and clear and Ori held it to the failing light, pleased with the result.  
“There now, I can take this with me and have a crack at it when it’s light.”

Bifur bowed courteously. He was not one of nature’s scholars himself, but somehow it warmed him to see Ori fascinated by his studies. Ori stashed the paper away, and soon after that Dori came to fetch them for supper, tutting at the black smudges on Ori’s fingers and demurely failing to notice the corresponding smudge on Bifur’s cheek. 

 

That night Ori frowned for a while at the rubbing he had taken, but the light from the dwindling fire made his eyes smart. He folded the paper away and bedded down, Bifur beside him as their more meddlesome relatives sat the first watch of the night together. Ori dreamed that he was back in Ered Luin hurrying to get to his lessons, but he was lost in the familiar corridors and every corner he turned brought him back to the same place. He was going to get into trouble, people he respected were going to disapprove of him, but hurry as he might he kept running in circles. After a couple of tries he managed to force himself to wake up, groaning in annoyance, and rolled over to curl against Bifur who put an arm over him without waking up. As he fell back to sleep Ori half heard two voices in earnest, hushed conversation behind him, but he paid them no mind. 

“You might not believe it coming from me,” Bofur said, no hint of the usual mirth twinkling in his eyes, “but Bifur is as true as they come and you’d be hard put to find a stouter heart, aside from the one your Ori’s got in him.”

“I’ll hand it to you, they do have that in common.” Dori sighed. 

“Yes! That’s why they suit each other. I know he’s older and he’s never been what you’d call a social climber and… uncharitable folk would say he’s seen better days, but inside those two’re the same, always hoping and trusting. They’re both so… what is it our man Balin says? Ingenius?”

“Ingenuous.” Dori supplied.

“Aye, that’s what I said. Anyways, they’ve both got what they need to look after the other, d’you see?”

“I do see, and it’s not that I mean any disrespect to your good cousin. He’s been injured in service and he’s due all our respect-“

“No no no,” Bofur gathered up one of Dori’s hands in both his own and wrung it fervently, “don’t respect him because some orc got a lucky swing at him. Respect him because he’s brilliant and he never gave up and he’s still everything you could want in a warrior and a craftsman! Respect him because he dragged me and Bombur up to be grown when he could have been enjoying his best years… just like you did with your two.”

It was almost funny to see Bofur so serious, like imagining Balin playing knock-and-run. Dori looked at Bofur, face slack, and patted his hand. It occurred to him how desperately Bofur and his family had clung to each other through lean times and how Bofur was now willing to let one of them go if it meant their happiness. 

“Forgive me.” Dori murmured.

“No, Dori, I’m sorry, I just-” Bofur relinquished Dori’s hand awkwardly.

“I know, it’s alright. I only – well, I don’t know what Bifur’s like, really, do I? I’m only thinking of keeping the little lad safe. Safe as he’ll let me, at any rate.”

“I swear on my life, Bifur’s no idiot. He’s… had certain things knocked out of him, but he’d never hurt your lad.”

“I’ll trust you then, my friend. You ought to know, after all. I’ll trust you and we’ll see how it goes for now.”

“Thank you.” Bofur smiled with aching sincerity as the two of them shook hands.

 

 

The next morning everyone was up early and ready for off in tolerable spirits. Bombur had said that he knew a lovely recipe for stewing woodpigeons with leeks if Kili could bring down a couple brace more birds, so most of the company were on the lookout and feeling optimistic. The sky was clearer and the day warmer, and no one even got round to bickering until mid-morning. It was shortly after this time, however, that it became apparent the company were lost.  
Thorin had stopped a little way ahead and was having a heated conversation with Dwalin. There was gesticulating on both sides. Balin wandered serenely over and took out a map that unfolded to almost twice his width, but after frowning at that for a few minutes the argument started up again. The others separated out into little groups to feign nonchalance and pretend they were not trying to listen to what was being said, until a consensus was reached and they set off again. After an hour or so they stopped once more, and this time Bofur and Gloin got involved, not being the sort of lads to shrink from debate. Then they stopped again, and again. By lunchtime Thorin was settling down to a good fuming, and his mood was like a thunder cloud rolling over the rest of the group. 

“If we just carry on in a straight line we’ll come out of the trees sooner or later and then we can get our bearings.” Balin was saying patiently. 

“We’ve been going in a straight line all day and we’ve passed this place twice before.” Thorin argued, “Look, there’s that rock with the dip in it and it’s next to that fallen tree. I’m fairly sure that’s even the same blasted squirrel, damn its hide.”

“It’s a forest, it all looks the same,” Gloin put in, “With respect, my lord, we can’t have passed it before, we’ve been going in a straight line, as you said.”

Balin did not argue with Gloin, but furrowed his brow pensively and wandered over to where a group of the others were sitting.

“Ori, lad, do you have a bit of chalk or something handy?” he asked. Ori quickly fumbled in his satchel and dug out what Balin requested, “Thank you.” Balin took it and went to the largest rock in the clearing, making a bold, angular mark on its side. 

Two hours later, when they once again found themselves confronted by a familiar squirrel sitting on a rock bearing the rune of safe travel, there could be no debate about whether they had passed the place before.


	2. Chapter 2

Bifur stood still as a statue, staring into space and seeing nothing, while almost everyone else crowded round the map and argued about which way they should go, the side moss was supposed to grow on trees, the position of the sun and anything else they could think of. Bifur only heard them as a background noise, while his mind wandered through a confused labyrinth with no centre and no distinction between memories, dreams and fireside stories that had seeped in to his unconscious. Sometimes he fancied he saw a figure, tall like a man, solemn, not threatening but not friendly, and clad in a grey winding sheet, but he wasn’t sure if this figure stood just to the side of him or only in the eye of his mind. After a time with no measure, he felt a hand on his arm; a warm, living hand that brought him round too quickly so that he struggled through the tangle of consciousness in a panic. 

Ori startled at the speed with which Bifur turned round and for a gut wrenching moment there was no sign of recognition in the older dwarf’s eyes. This saddened Ori, but Bifur’s stance quickly relaxed when he looked into that worried young face. The wounded warrior’s brows unknitted as a name surfaced through the confusion; this was a friend, a precious friend.

“Ori?” he rumbled, and knew as he said it that the name fitted. 

“Yes, it’s Ori,” Ori squeezed Bifur’s arm reassuringly, “I’m sorry if I surprised you, but it’s time we were moving on.”

 **Where am I?** Bifur signed urgently.

“You might well ask, because I don’t think anyone’s quite sure where we are,” Ori smiled. This triggered the memories Bifur was after; he was on a quest, of course, and he was being led by a kingdomless king with no sense of direction. He wasn’t sure he was any happier now that he knew. 

They moved off and Ori spoke to Bifur in a low voice while Bifur signed questions and tried to tell Ori about the figure he hadn’t seen. Ori showed Bifur his work on the inscription he had taken the night before, explaining how he was looking for a key letter which would allow him to unlock the secret of the writing, and Bifur let Ori’s earnest voice wash over him and soothe him into a comfortable trance. The company wandered hopelessly until the sun began to get low in the sky and flashed orange fire between the leaves.

“That’s brilliant, that is,” huffed Dori, “we’ve lost a day! If we’d have crossed that stream and gone over that rise, like I said, we’d be-”

Thorin rounded on him with a growl and Dori shut up quickly, averting his eyes and continuing his funk with better grace.

“Let’s just call it a night, eh?” Balin suggested, “We’re all tired and not thinking any better for it. Tomorrow we’ll surely find our way out, when we’re rested.”

Thorin did not agree, but he didn’t actively disagree either, so the others began to cast about for a place to set up camp. They tramped up an incline, crested the hill and found themselves facing a ruined round house, three quarters of the wall still standing, the rest a tumble of mossy stones on the hillside.

The company exchanged dark glances with one another while they set up camp for the night. The ruins did not seem so merry a place as they had the night before and the dwarves were much less boisterous, but once they had settled down after supper for a smoke and a chat, they had convinced themselves that the oppressive atmosphere was just an effect of their weariness. 

“Well Mr Baggins, a fine lot you must think us!” Bofur pulled the hobbit into the circle beside him, “When you get back, all covered in gold, don’t tell all your friends that we couldn’t find our way out of a wood no more than ten miles across.”

Bilbo smiled, visibly relaxing, “I’ll make something glamorous up for this part, don’t worry.”

Soon they settled into their evening, talking amongst themselves, Bilbo and Balin studying the map together while beside them Dori mended a buckle on Dwalin’s gear and Bofur played a sedate but by no means melancholy tune on his flute. Ori had taken out his book and ink and written down his account of the strange day, but his gaze was drawn to Bifur, who was hunched over a block of wood, knife in hand, coaxing a shape into life. Ori decided that Bifur was quite the most interesting subject present – his dashing injury, the handsome stripes in his beard, the concentration in his eyes – and began to sketch him on a clean sheet of paper. After a while Bifur noticed and met Ori’s eyes for a moment, but went back to his whittling and patiently held his position until Ori stood up. To add to his other commendable qualities, Bifur was an excellent sitter. 

Ori came over and sat next to him, the small rock Bifur had chosen meaning that they had to huddle very close in order to fit. Ori held the book open on his knee and showed Bifur his work and Bifur looked on it with pride in his dark eyes, running his fingers over the page as if it would help him to see it better. In doing so he smudged the ink where it had not had time to dry properly, and pulled his hand back in horror when he realised. The look on his face was heart breaking and Ori quickly put the book aside and curled his hands round Bifur’s arm.

“It’s alright, please don’t worry!” he began hurriedly, “It was only a practice study, I was going to do a much better one of you anyway.”

Bifur covered his face with one hand and groaned, and Ori reached up and gently pulled the hand away, causing Bifur to meet his gaze. 

“I mean it,” Ori went on more softly, pressing his forehead to Bifur’s temple, “that happens all the time, it’s nothing to worry about. Why, Mr Balin himself once leaned on a transcript that had taken me six hours; I don’t think he’s forgiven himself to this day!”

Bifur mumbled something that Ori didn’t catch, but the sound of his voice was a warm rumble that made the younger dwarf smile. He raised a hand to touch Bifur’s thick beard, laughing shyly when Bifur returned the gesture and took the entirely inadequate wisps of Ori’s beard between his fingers. There was a long, warm moment before the pair were recalled to themselves by the general murmur of appreciation as Bofur finished his tune. The talk around them turned to stories about ghosts and bogies and things that haunted ruins and lured travellers astray on moors. 

When they turned in for the night, Bifur and Ori bedded down beside each other once more, watching the glint of each other’s eyes in the darkness until they fell asleep. Bifur fell into the unwelcome doze that sometimes took him, no good for real rest, and dreamed that he was walking through the mines he had once known well. Now, however, he could not find his way and was wandering in circles. Each familiar turn he took brought him back to the same unremarkable stretch of tunnel and the darkness cloyed about him. He remembered a time when his whole world had seemed like this for months after he had first been injured, when the familiar had been alien. Then, however, his family had been there to help him find his way out, but he was alone in this place. He murmured a prayer in Khuzdul and woke to Ori shaking him sleepily, realising he had been speaking it out loud.

“We’re you dreaming?” Ori murmured, his voice low with sleep. Bifur grunted affirmatively and Ori slipped an arm across his chest. The pair slept in comparative peace until dawn.

 

The next morning they set off with a plan. Down the hill and as far as the rock Balin marked out yesterday, then east from there, over the stream and continue straight. This they did, and they were convinced they were passing different scenery to the day before, though it was hard to tell with trees. Convinced, that is, until they found themselves crossing the stream again. There was some debate as to which side of the stream they were now on and whether it was in fact the same stream, and the debate descended into shoving until Thorin, quivering with barely contained rage, declared that they would keep going along the stream in the direction the water was flowing. This they did until they came to a close clump of trees that each grew outwards from a central point in the ground like many-fingered hands. These grew too thickly together to walk through and the Company was forced to detour around, after which time they managed to lose track of the stream and found themselves back at the clearing with the rock bearing Balin’s rune. The ever-present squirrel eyed them with faint amusement and dashed out of the way before Kili had notched an arrow to his bowstring. 

Tempers were getting heated and rows were breaking out all round the clearing. Added to this was the fact that no one now seemed willing to have a crack at the map since it would invariably draw down the ire of the entirely company on that individual. They wasted a good part of the afternoon sulking and dithering, before having one more try in an arbitrary direction, after which they found themselves standing at the foot of a familiar hill, with a sinking feeling in their hearts. When they reached the top and came to the ruined hut, Thorin gave a bellow of impotent fury and kicked a bit more of the wall down. There was nothing for it however; they were losing the light and needed to sleep somewhere.

***

In the rugged but green land on the other side of the forest, Gandalf the Grey stood beside his pony under the shadow of the trees. The dwarves had not turned up at the village where they were to meet him, and he had waited as long as he could spare before resigning himself and riding out to meet them, but he had not seen so much as a whisker.  
He muttered to his unheeding pony about damning beards and axes and all, but knew in his bones that something was amiss besides dwarven folly. There was another power in the forest, not a hostile one but one so old that it had become part of the land; old, patient and unyielding in the execution of its duties. It was focused though, absolutely focused; what it would have to do with a company of dwarves who were just passing through was, for the moment, a mystery.

He scratched in his beard with the stem of his pipe and looked with mild bemusement at the translucent blue of the twilight sky. His pony snorted sleepily beside him and the pair of them settled down for the night. Tomorrow he would fathom out the power at work, and doubtlessly find his dwarves in the process.

***

Bifur sat on the heap of rocks where he and Ori had discovered the engraved stone two nights ago. He let his head droop into his hands and tested whether the darkness was any more complete inside his fingers or without. Then he tested whether he could still see the tall figure in his peripheral vision when he covered his eyes. His head was beginning to ache from trying to look directly at the phantom, and when Bifur got a headache he did not do it by halves.

Behind him, Ori stood and fretted at his mittens, not sure of how to offer comfort. Talking to Bifur only seemed to make it worse – even touching him made him wince – and there were horrible moments when he seemed not to recognise who was sitting beside him. Ori fretted until Bombur came over and pressed a mug of tea into his hands, nodding meaningfully in Bifur’s direction. The tea was clear and smelled of chamomile and something else, valerian, perhaps. Ori took the tea over to Bifur, easing his hands down and pressing the warm mug into his fingers.

Bifur stared into the mug, then lifted his eyes to stare at Ori through the steam. Ori opened his mouth to speak but then caught himself, knowing it wouldn’t help. Instead, after a moment, he pressed a hand to his heart and then held his open palm over the same spot on Bifur’s chest – not a recognised gesture in any language of hand-signing, but one that was unmistakable. There was no reaction for a moment, then, to Ori’s surprise, Bifur smiled and caught the retreating hand as it was pulled back. He almost brought it to his mouth and seemed to pray over it for a moment, then sighed and placed it gently back in its owner’s lap. They sat in silence while Bifur drank his tea, until his shoulders lost some of their tension and he tugged Ori over to sit closer to him. 

**Do we know where we are?** he asked very quietly. 

“I don’t think so.” Ori sighed, “but the forest can’t go on forever. It was no more than ten miles across on the map.”

Bifur made a dismissive noise that showed what he currently thought of maps and those who fancied they could read them. 

**Why don’t we ask him which way?**

“Who?”

 **Him. I thought we were following him.**

Ori looked where Bifur was pointing, then turned back to Bifur and squeezed his hand. It was plain by the young dwarf’s face that he thought Bifur had not quite got over his funny turn yet. Maybe, Bifur thought, he was right. And what right did a fellow like himself have to presume upon the faith of one such as Ori, bright as new gold and a thousand times more rare?

He got up and patted Ori on the shoulder in a distressingly fraternal way.

 **Same again tomorrow.** he spoke more lightly than he felt, taking himself off to sit near the fire. 

Ori watched glumly as Bifur turned around and angled himself to the light, then took out the carving he was working on and began to whittle away. 

Much of the rest of the Company were talking heatedly, with much cursing of damnable forests and useless wizards who weren’t around when you needed them. The map lay crumpled on the ground beside them and no one made a move to retrieve it when it was stirred by the wind. 

“This is ridiculous,” Thorin snarled, “are we to be defeated by a clump of trees before we’re even half way?”

“It should have taken no more than a day to cover it, something’s gone wrong.” Dwalin scowled.

“Something’s gone wrong, he says?” Gloin had never mastered the elegant use of sarcasm, “Well at least we’re lucky to have you to point that out to us!”

“Oh aye, and what use have you been? You couldn’t navigate your way out of a bucket of sand.”

“Now listen here-”

“Excuse me.” Bilbo tried, but the two bristling dwarves ignored him and began the preliminary shoving that would undoubtedly end in tears. “Excuse me!” he tried again more forcefully, unconsciously adopting the voice he used when exuberant young hobbits were trampling the begonias near the front gate back home. It seemed to do the trick. “You might not believe it, but fighting amongst ourselves is going to do nothing to get us out of here.”  
Justly chastised, Dwalin and Gloin folded their arms and set themselves facing away from each other. Gloin muttered something about buckets of sand and Dwalin arched an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. 

“What do you think we should do, Mister Baggins?” Fili asked, clearly impressed. This caught Bilbo off guard slightly. 

“Well…um, why don’t we try going back the way we came in? Then we can get out to where we started and skirt around the forest, since it seems to disorientate us so.”  
Grudgingly, Thorin acknowledged that no one had a better plan, and dismissed them all to their beds, taking first watch himself so he could simmer in privacy. As the dwarf king sat and stared into the night, he berated himself for giving any credence to the creeping feeling that they were not alone. 

Behind him, Bifur and Ori spent a cheerless night apart, and they both dreamed they were wandering through a pathless wilderness in the fog, trying to find each other but blundering past the same shadow-shapes in the mist again and again.

***


	3. Chapter 3

The light of the new morning was groggy and unwelcome. Ori dithered over his packing, unsure if he could impose upon Bifur for his company, but presently the older dwarf ambled uncertainly over, a half-shaped piece of wood in his hands and wood shavings clinging to the front of his coat. Hesitantly at first, Ori began to brush the shavings off, smiling again and being smiled at; Bifur seemed to have come right back to himself now, and doubtless it was the act of carving that had helped him do so. 

“May I see what you’re making?” Ori asked, shyly. Bifur uncurled his hand and let Ori take the carving from him. It was not finished; the lower half of the figure had not yet emerged from the wood and the edges were still angular, but the patient skill was clear. Ori ran his fingertips over it, admiring the way the tattered shroud hung so realistically.  
“It’s amazing, Bifur! Did you just think it up?”

Bifur shook his head.

**I have seen him.** he signed. 

Ori looked at him in horror. “Where?”

**In here. In the woods.** Then Bifur made a circular motion with one hand. Ori furrowed his brow, disquieted. 

Bifur took the carving back and tucked it away in a pocket. After a moment, Ori asked quietly,

“Will he hurt us?”

**No. Not him.** Bifur replied, and let Ori into the circle of his arms.

 

The company set off back down the hill the way they had arrived on that first day, giving the Halfling’s plan an enthusiastic shot. When they arrived back at the ruined hut by midday, Bilbo carefully stayed at the back of the group behind a couple of the more understanding dwarves, but Thorin had passed beyond fury into an eerie calm. That evening the company spoke no word as they set up camp back in the same place and lit their fire in the blackened spot where they had done so the night before. 

When Thorin had stalked away to a safe distance, a hushed conversation tremulously started up. Bifur sat carving and did not try to join in, but his eyes flicked up every now and then as if for reference.

“This is more than us being lost,” Bofur said to Bilbo, who was still edgy from the murderous glances he had been subjected to, “There’s somethin’ black at work here.”

“I know, it feels like this place is cursed.” Bilbo whispered back.

“Shush! You’ll frighten the lad.” Dori fussed, and Ori looked round indignantly.

“I’m not frightened!” he hissed, though it was hard to assert your point when you didn’t dare raise your voice.

“Course you’re not.” Nori clapped his brother’s shoulder, but he was looking nervously over Ori’s head; there was nothing quite so distressing to a thief as the feeling you were being watched, and by something you didn’t know the strength of. 

“Is it unlucky for a traveller to shoot a woodpigeon?” Kili asked suddenly, bringing his hands to his face in horror, “Wasn’t there a poem where something like that happened!”

“I don’t think that was a woodpigeon, laddie, you’ve no need to worry.” Balin shook his head in long-suffering despair.

“I wish Gandalf were here.” Bilbo sighed, and Bofur nodded. No one even had the spirit left to slight the wizard for his absence. 

The conversation permeated Bifur’s awareness as he worked on his carving. _Cursed_. He turned the word over in his mind and looked down at the creature he had now almost given shape. He held the carving up again and stared past it to the broken stones of the wall where he and Ori had made their find the first night. Across the camp, Ori fidgeted absently with the scrap of paper sticking out of his pocket.

***

Gandalf was glad there was no one around to see him stumped. He had ridden through the little forest several times that day, crossing his own tracks and back again, and had turned up not a sniff of dwarf nor hobbit. He had at first considered that he had got himself lost, but he seemed to be able to find his way to any point he intended on the edges of the wood. Yet there was a part of the wood, in the centre, which he could see from the outside, marked by a hill over which the trees rose like foam on a sea-swell, but he could not get to when he made towards it. He would start in what he was certain was the right direction and find that somehow he had been turned around and was back on the outskirts of the wood.

It was a while before the wizard associated his disorientation with the power he had felt the day before, but once the connection was made the next certainty was not far behind; the dwarves had managed to dig themselves into trouble in one of the quietest, most harmless parts of the country they would be crossing. Gandalf rolled his eyes in despair. It was, as the saying went, like herding cats, except of course that cats at least landed on their feet.

***

Bifur sat on watch in the blackness of the night, looking at the outlines of his companions in the glow of the embers. Bofur sat across the circle facing the other way, his head nodding and then snapping up suddenly as he tried to rouse himself. There was another figure, pale and insubstantial yet somehow visible in the dark. It stood by the tumbled wall but when Bifur turned to look directly at it, it evaded his focus.

When Bofur had nodded again, Bifur carefully reached down to the warm body sleeping near his feet and shook Ori gently until he woke. The scribe looked in askance and was about to speak when Bifur gestured for him to keep silent. Ori pulled himself up, still wrapped in his blanket, and sat sleepily beside Bifur, leaning on him and lolling against his shoulder, nuzzling into his beard. Bifur thought there could be nothing sweeter in the world, and turned his face so that his nose brushed Ori’s forehead. When Ori raised his face and looked into Bifur’s shadowed eyes, he saw clearly that Bifur had something to tell him.

Across the camp, Bofur jolted up, alerted by the sound of movement, but when he looked around and saw Ori and Bifur nosing at each other, he smiled and turned back to give them some privacy.

Bifur brought out the figure he had finished carving and pressed it into Ori’s hands. Ori turned it around, admiring the flow of the cloth and the angle of the jutting joints, but not comprehending. Turning Ori to face him, Bifur signed.

**He’s here.**

Ori felt the hairs prickle on the back of his neck.

Bifur reached round to Ori’s pocket and pulled out the folded piece of paper bearing the rubbing from the stone. He unfolded it to see that it was smudged and scribbled on, letters crossed out and words rearranged. He took the carving and wrapped the paper around it, handing the bundle back to Ori. 

Where another might have struggled, this was enough for Ori, and his hand tightened around paper and carving as the realisation hit him. Bifur only lifted Ori’s face with one hand and gently thumbed under his eye. It was alright.

Ori took Bifur’s carving out of its wrapping and folded the paper up tightly. They burned the paper in the embers of the fire, careful to make sure no scraps of it floated away on the heat. Bofur looked around again at the crackle of new flames, furrowing his brow at the pair questioningly, but Ori smiled apologetically and Bofur said nothing, too pleased to see his cousin fawned over by such a winsome young thing. He unceremoniously roused Dwalin for his shift on watch and told Bifur and Ori they should be getting their sleep. Curled together like a couple of foxes in a den, they slept a black sleep and dreamed of nothing. 

 

There was a bustle at the camp the next morning as Fili and Kili, the keepers of the dawn watch, frantically kicked everyone awake. 

“He’s coming!” Kili urged, a boyish giggle in his voice despite the rings under his eyes.

“Who is?” Bilbo groaned, trying to roll away from the insistent dwarf boot prodding him in the side. 

“Mister Gandalf!”

Thorin practically jumped from horizontal to standing in one movement, straightening his coat and plainly trying to look like he had been awake for hours and was taking everything in his stride. The others struggled up around him and Oin kicked the fire into life. 

Cresting the hill, Gandalf greeted them with a cheery ‘Good morning!’ and received stiff bows and all-too-casual greetings in his turn.

“And where, may I ask, did you all get to? I’ve been all around here and seen not a sign of you, and here you all are, as comfortable as you please, though I will say you’ve made a rather morbid choice of campsite.”

“We… were misdirected,” Thorin informed the wizard, “the map was clearly out of date.”

Gandalf eyed him with a pleasant credulity which no one was naïve enough to buy into. He began poking around the ruins with apparent interest while the others pulled themselves together and got breakfast on the go. He came to the tumbled wall and nudged at the rocks with the end of his staff, drawing his bushy eyebrows together and squinting at something. Ori sidled over as inconspicuously as possible, tugging Bifur with him. 

“What is it, Mister Gandalf?” the young dwarf asked, and Bifur smiled to see that Ori was not entirely unaware of the impression of wide-eyed innocence he gave off.  
“Seems to be some sort of inscription here, young Master Ori, just your sort of thing.” Gandalf knelt down and squinted at the writing on the stone, “Ah, it’s as I thought when I saw the place.”

“What is it?”

“There’s a very old spell set in the stone. Quite a simple one, really, almost mundane – must be why it didn’t occur to me, I was looking for something big! It’s been here for years and years too.”

“What does it say?”

Gandalf spared a suspicious glance at Ori’s frantic curiosity.

“It’s an old folk spell, commonly used on graves and burial places to keep a restless spirit in one place. There must be someone buried round here, a hermit or solitary woodsman or such like. It wasn’t uncommon, if someone lived out in the wild like this and no one else had a use for the place, to just burry them under their own threshold and bring the wall down on them. Must have been a lively one though, probably didn’t even realise he’d died.”

“Can you not realise you’ve died?” Ori asked.

“Oh certainly, it can be an easy mistake to make.” Gandalf scratched a single large rune on the engraved stone using the base of his staff. It scored its way effortlessly across the writing and when he was finished the stone split in two. “There now, that should send him on his way."

Bifur rattled off a rumble of Khuzdul accompanied by animated hand gestures.

“Yes, Bifur, this fellow will now be able to find his way to where he should have gone.” Then Gandalf added, almost to himself, “The spell could certainly explain why I wasn’t able to get in and find you, but I can’t imagine how you set it to work on yourselves and how you broke it again.”

Ori grabbed Bifur’s hand and squeezed it tight. Gandalf looked at them a long moment, and it was the sort of knowing look that imbued a very strong desire to avoid the looker for the rest of the day. “Dwarves continue to astound me.” He said, and with that the wizard swept off to see what he could cadge in the way of breakfast.

***

Shortly after midday the Company left the forest and crossed open fields. They were all in festive spirits and set Gandalf chuckling. They camped that night under the open stars, never before so taken with them.

Bifur and Ori spoke quietly together in hushed tones. Ori had been distressed about the episode at first, mortified, even, but Bifur had soothed it away without saying hardly a word. Now Bifur pressed something into Ori’s hands and Ori saw with delight that it was the carving Bifur had made in the hut on the hill. It was the first courting token they had exchanged, and Ori blushed happily as he tucked it away inside his coat. He kissed Bifur on the cheek, and found that he couldn’t help kissing him again. Bifur carefully kissed Ori back, and once the pair found their confidence there was a joyful moment where the world went soft and quiet around them.

They went back to the fire hand in hand, before Bifur was called away by his cousins. Dori and Nori came and sat down either side of their little brother, both looking serious, and Ori laughed to see them wearing such similar expressions. 

“May I take it he found you a suitable gift?” Dori asked, feigning calm. 

“Oh yes!”

“Let us see then!” Nori’s eyes glinted with curiosity.

Ori brought out the carving proudly, holding it so his brothers could see it but not allowing them to touch it. It was the figure of a man, thin and wasted and wearing a long shapeless robe or sheet which hung in ragged folds. His eyes were mournful holes in his empty face, jarring incongruously with the uncomfortable grin he wore where his lips had wasted back from his teeth. There was something uncanny about the way his joints sat, as though they’d been set back wrong after a break, and the whole figure was altogether disquieting. The skill of the carver was evident in the way the robe hung, looking as though you could push it aside with your finger, and it was plain that the strange proportioning of the over-long arms was intentional.

“Isn’t it magnificent?” Ori sighed. 

“It’s… terrific.” Nori said after a while, then nudged his older brother, “isn’t it, Dori?”

“Oh. Yes, it’s… one of a kind.” Dori smiled weakly, “Um. What is it?”

“Well, that’s sort of between us. It’s… a lost soul, I suppose.”

There was a moment of uncertain silence, then Dori said,  
“Well, Ori, if that suits you, then, then I’m very pleased for you.”

“Oh yes,” Ori’s eyes shone with pleasure at his brothers’ approval, “it’s perfect, just the thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeeeeah, don't know what happened here. I set out to write fan fiction as a bit of light relief and to get me back in the swing of writing and it came out as a sort of independent-plot thing. I might even end up changing the names and lifting it for some original things I'm working on. Anyhoo, this isn't the worst thing I've ever done but I clearly haven't got the hang of pacing yet - any tactful hints are appreciated. 
> 
> I've seen this pairing around a couple of times and I quite like it, it just seems sweet. I've seen in a couple of movie related blurbs and whatever that no one can understand Bifur's ancient Khuzdul but I don't buy that, personally. I mean, he's meant to be one of the 'average joe' dwarves so where would he have learned it in the first place if no one else knows it? Unless they're implying it's a sort of race memory thing, in which case... just shut up, alright? Anyhoo, my head-canon is that some of them can understand him, especially the more scholarly types, though he doesn't say much anyway. Also, I can't remember where I've seen this idea that maybe Bifur can TOTES SEE INTO THE SPIRIT WORLD because of his injury, but I have a feeling I've seen it somewhere before. If I've ripped you off, I'm sincerely sorry, I didn't do it on purpose and I'll credit you if you let me know.


End file.
